


good vibrations

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking, Vibrators, slight daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: Fred and FP have some fun at work.
Relationships: Fred Andrews/FP Jones II
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	good vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> blame this entire title on julia. blame this entire fic on julia. i take responsibility for none of this. 
> 
> i guess technically this fic takes place in season 1? but also no it doesnt. all my fics exist outside of the show i think we've all learned this by now

“I wanna talk to you,” is the first thing Fred says to FP as he comes walking into the trailer after a long day of hauling wood and cement around in the hot sun. 

He barely has a moment to enjoy the reprieve of the air conditioner before his stomach twists up in knots. The last time he was standing in this trailer with Fred telling him he wanted to talk… it didn't end well. FP tries racking his brain for anything that could’ve gotten him in trouble but, for once, he comes up short. He _did_ sneak a blunt on his lunch break the other day but… he doubts Fred knows about that. 

“Look, I don’t know what I did,” FP says, hands up in defense. “But whatever it is, I’m s-”

“Come here.” Fred’s using his stern voice, the one he reserves for reprimands. The one that’s all rough and hard and leaves no room for argument. Sometimes that voice also means _fun_ , but FP can’t find any trace of it on Fred’s face. He’s just sitting back in his chair, elbows on the armrests and hands clasped together like he means business, and FP has no choice but to obey. 

“Turn around,” Fred instructs, and that kind of throws FP off. 

“What?”

Fred raises an eyebrow, the tiniest break from this character he’s playing, and _Oh._ Suddenly FP gets where this is going. He turns around eagerly now, leans forward to place his palms flat down on the desk when Fred tells him to. 

He stands there for a moment, waiting, already starting to get hard in jeans thinking about what’s to come. They do this sometimes, he and Fred. Have a quick fuck in the construction trailer when no one else is around. Usually at the end of the day when everyone’s gone home. Sometimes they sneak it in at lunch if Fred’s feeling adventurous. FP likes those the best. 

But Fred takes his time now. FP can hear the slow creak of the chair as Fred gets up. There’s suddenly a weight on FP’s back, pressing against his ass, arms snaking around his waist and a hand sneaking up his shirt. 

“Been thinking about you all day,” Fred says, voice low against FP’s ear. It sends a shiver down FP’s spine, makes him push back against Fred’s front. Fred groans, deep and throaty, and FP’s fingers curl against the wood underneath them. 

“You gonna do something about it?” FP turns his face the best he can to look at Fred, challenging him with a smirk. Fred retaliates by slipping his hand up higher, pinching FP’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger. FP jolts with a laugh on his lips.

“Such a brat,” Fred says as he pulls away. “You know what happens to brats.”

And, _yeah_ , FP _does_ know. It’s kind of the whole point.

Fred’s hands wander south, leaving a trail of goosebumps on FP’s skin down to the waistband of his jeans. Fred’s fingers work to undo them, sliding them down to just under FP’s ass. He stands back enough to take in the sight of him, all vulnerable and exposed at Fred’s mercy. He reaches out to palm one of FP’s cheeks - can’t help himself as his fingers curl deep against the flesh and spreads him.

FP lets out a low groan. A shiver running down his spine from being so on display. He wiggles his hips a little, gives Fred a show. He’s rewarded with a swift slap to his cheek, his hips bucking forward like that’ll escape the sting. Not that he actually _wants_ to. He _likes_ it, that little bit of pain. It’s just reflex.

Suddenly Fred’s on him again. He’s got a hand on FP’s throat, right under his jaw. Tilts his head to the side so his neck’s exposed. Fred’s face is right there, pressed against FP’s. He dips a little to bite FP’s earlobe, gives it a tug with his teeth rough enough to make FP’s eyes flutter shut. 

“God, look at you,” Fred says, voice all breathy in FP’s ear. “Such a slut.”

And _fuck_. FP’s knees almost buckle. Fred hasn’t even touched him yet and he’s still managed to get FP’s cock twitching where it’s still trapped in his briefs. 

He doesn’t know what’s brought this on. Usually there’s some warning when Fred’s feeling particularly domineering, if FP isn’t outright asking for it. Not that he’s complaining. It kind of makes it more fun, the unexpectedness of it. With no time to psych himself up FP has no idea what’s coming. 

“Say it. Say you’re a slut.” And it’s clear in Fred’s tone he’s not _asking_. Punctuates the command with another harsh slap to FP’s ass.

Something between a whimper and a groan escapes from the back of FP’s throat as he curses. “I’m a slut.”

Then Fred’s chuckling, low and mean right in FP’s ear, and FP swears he could come off the sound of that alone.

“Atta boy.” Fred places a soft kiss to FP’s temple before he backs away. 

FP almost wants to whine at the sudden loss of contact, until he hears Fred opening up one of the desk drawers. He peaks over to see Fred rummaging around until he finds what he’s looking for, the small bottle of lube he’s been keeping in there ever since they unofficially decided fooling around in the trailer was gonna become a recurring thing. 

All FP can think is _Finally_ as he hears the squirting of the liquid out of the bottle. He must’ve voiced his relief out loud, too, because Fred lets out a laugh through his nose, says “You’re so impatient,” as he kicks at FP’s foot to get him to spread his legs as far as the jeans constraining his thighs will allow.

And, yeah. He is. Especially when it comes to Fred fucking him. He likes sex. He likes sex with his boyfriend. So sue him.

“Do not move,” Fred instructs, right before FP feels a slick finger trace his rim.

His whole body tenses trying to fight the urge to arch, to bend, to break. Fred takes his time teasing over FP’s hole, long enough that FP’s about to start begging right before Fred decides to end his little reign of terror and slip his finger inside. 

It’s not enough. It’s barely anything, but at least it’s _something_. FP sighs as Fred fucks a single finger in and out of him. It’s nice - especially when Fred curls his finger, hits that spot that has FP feeling warm all over - but he wants more. 

“C’mon, Freddie…” he says, half goading, half tense from keeping himself restrained like Fred wants. His arms are getting tired from working all day and now having to hold himself up, but he’s not about to give in. Not when they’re just starting.

Fred hums behind him, like he’s considering. A soft hand comes down on FP’s back, rubbing soothingly down the length of it til it comes to rest on the curve of his ass. His lone finger doesn’t stop working FP. “I don’t know… You’ve been a little mouthy.”

There’s a quip on the tip of FP’s tongue, but he bites it. Opts instead for “I’ll be good. Promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Fred says. Sounds all amused. “You gonna be good for daddy?” 

He punctuates it with a slow stroke over FP’s prostate, and the combination is enough to leave FP’s arms feeling like jelly. “ _Fuck._ Yes. I’ll be good.”

Fred’s hand slaps down hard on FP’s cheek again, the skin already starting to get sore. Has FP biting down on his bottom lip to suppress a moan. “You’ll be good, _what_?”

FP doesn’t know what the hell’s gotten into Fred today, but he’s certainly not complaining. He wishes Fred would let this side out more often. He always acts so shy about it, never thinks he can pull it out of himself unless he’s actually mad at FP. But then there’s moments like this where it seemingly comes to him so naturally, and FP wonders if Fred’s just been playing him the whole time. Not that it really matters. The eng goal stays the same. 

“I’ll be good, _daddy_ ,” FP responds, voice thick with want.

Fred rewards him by slipping in another slick finger alongside the first. The stretch is nice, gives FP more of what he wants, but it’s still not enough. He won’t complain, though. Because he told Fred he’d be good, and he thinks he’ll actually honest to God cry if Fred decides to stop now just to spite him, which FP knows he’s not above doing.

There’s sweat forming on his brow. Trying to hold himself up after a long day of hauling around steel is starting to wear on him, not to mention the way Fred’s working him _now_ , showing no mercy as he works two, _three_ fingers inside of him, keeps hitting that spot over and over like he’s trying to push FP to his breaking point. He feels fucking close to it. 

“C’m on, Fred. Just fuck me already.” It sounded more commanding in FP’s head, but to his ears it just sounds whiny and desperate. He’s breathing too heavy, his voice pitching up higher than he’d care for. He bows his head, letting it hang between his shoulders as his elbows start to give. He’s honestly surprised he’s been able to keep his posture going for this long.

“‘S that what you want, baby?” Fred coos, the fingers of his free hand gently raking through FP’s hair before giving it a slight tug.

It pulls a gasp from FP’s mouth as his head tilts back. “ _Yes_. At least fucking touch me or _something_.” His cock’s left achingly hard, still trapped in his briefs, neglected. If Fred expects him to go on much longer like this he’s fucking crazy.

“I am touching you.”

FP groans. He can _hear_ the smirk in Fred’s voice. “You know what I mean.”

Fred chuckles as he leans forward, presses a soft kiss to the side of FP’s neck. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.”

Gently, he slides his fingers out, and FP tries to ignore the sensation of suddenly feeling empty. Tries to focus instead on the fact that he’s _finally_ about to have Fred’s dick inside him after all that teasing. 

Fred rummages through the drawer again. FP figures he’s getting more lube, maybe a condom. He tries to peak over to see, but his vision’s pretty obscured at this angle. He’s expecting to hear the sound of Fred undoing his jeans any second, but it never comes. 

Instead of a warm cock, something that feels like silicone circles his hole, catching him off guard. “What the-”

“Shhh,” Fred tells him as he whips his head around to see what the hell Fred’s doing, though he thinks he can venture a guess, and he’s not exactly happy about it. 

He wants to be getting _fucked_ , and the possibility of that outcome seems to be getting farther and farther away.

“Just trust me, okay?” Fred’s voice goes more gentle now, no longer playing the tyrant he was before. He starts to slowly fuck the toy into him, eyes locked on FP’s the whole time. 

FP rolls his eyes, pretends like it doesn’t matter to him that Fred’s always so careful with him, and bites out a _”Fine.”_ He tries not to melt at the triumphant look on Fred’s face he gets in response. It’s not what he wanted, but Fred’s clearly in the mood for games, and FP can be a good sport when he needs to be. 

Fred goes back to pushing the plug, FP realizes, slowly into FP’s hole, letting him get accustomed to the stretch before it's seated in him completely. He plays with the base, alternating between wiggling it around and pressing against it so it hits FP in just the right spot over and over.

“You’re a little twisted, you know that?” There’s no edge to FP’s voice as the words come out, all strained and breathy as Fred keeps teasing him. 

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started,” Fred responds. And then he’s stopping his torment, reaching for FP’s jeans to pull them back up and fasten them. 

If FP thought what he was doing before was torture, this is just plain _cruel_.

“Oh, come on, Fred!” FP whines, finally straightening up to face Fred, albeit a little wobbly. “You can’t just leave me hanging like tha-” He’s cut off by a sudden buzzing, a soft vibration emitting from the toy inside him. He has to grip the desk behind him to keep himself from falling to his knees. 

Fred’s standing in front of him with his phone held up, smiling all proud of himself as he gives the phone a wiggle. “Surprise. Finally figured out how to work this thing.”

They had tried this before one date night a couple weeks back. FP had thought it would be hot; going out to dinner, nobody else knowing what was hidden beneath his clothes, giving Fred full control over his pleasure so out in the open like that with no one the wiser. It was great… in theory. Never got put into practice because Fred, technologically impaired as he is, couldn’t figure out the settings on his phone to control the damn toy. Needless to say, it left FP with the worst case of blue balls he’d ever experienced, even if Fred did make it up to him later. 

“You could’ve given me some warning,” FP says.

“Mmm, I could have. But this seemed more fun.” Fred’s thumb slides up the screen, resulting in a more intense buzz from the toy. 

FP’s eyes roll back as they flutter shut, his chest heaving up and down. He can barely register what Fred just said to him. It doesn’t really matter at this point, not as long as he keeps feeling like this. “Whatever. Just. C’mere.”

He reaches out, fists a hand in Fred’s shirt and tugs him forward. Fred crowds him against the desk, pressing their bodies flush together as he leans in for a kiss that FP accepts greedily.

There’s a low, steady buzz coming from the vibrator. Feels like it’s back on the lowest setting while they kiss, which is fine. It’s enough to have FP feeling drunk, along with Fred pushing his thigh between FP’s legs to give him some friction up front. And every once in a while Fred will spike the intensity, just enough to keep FP on the edge and have him whimpering into Fred’s mouth, before bringing it back down to that dull but persistent thrum. 

It’s fucking hot as shit, being at Fred’s mercy like this.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” Fred whispers. Places a kiss to FP’s lips, his jaw, his neck. He brings up the intensity again, and FP doesn’t know if he should push back against the vibe, trying to feel it deeper, or rut forward against Fred’s thigh. 

“ _Fuck!_ You gotta lemme come, Freddie.” FP’s words come out so slurred he doesn’t even know if he uttered anything intelligible. His thoughts are all cloudy, his entire body feels so warm, and he can feel the thrum in his bones.

“You think you’ve earned it?” Fred smiles against FP’s neck, flicks his tongue out to lick a pointed stripe up to FP’s ear before sucking on the spot just below it. 

The intensity of the vibrations keep steadily climbing, higher, higher, higher. _How many fucking settings does this thing have?_ FP wonders briefly. His breathing pitches higher along with it, and all he can manage is a choked out “Yes,” in response. He pushes his ass back against the edge of the desk as he hikes his leg up around the one Fred has pressed to his front, dragging him closer. His whole body feels clenched like it’s just _waiting_ to fucking spring. 

Fred places a hot, open-mouthed kiss just under FP’s ear. “I think so, too.” He sets the vibrator on its highest setting before placing his phone down on the desk beside FP, wants both his hands free so he can coax FP through this.

He brings them to FP’s hips, grabbing tight to pull him forward. Then they’re smoothing up his body, dipping under his shirt. Fred lets his nails scratch along FP’s skin, feels his stomach going taught as his body works its way towards climax. They slide higher still until his thumbs are brushing across FP’s nipples, pebbling underneath the slightest contact. 

FP’s on fire. He’s so fucking close. Can taste it, right on the tip of his tongue. His one hand is still fisted in Fred’s shirt, so tight he thinks he might rip it off from his body. His other hand is in Fred’s hair, pulling so hard Fred’s head tilts back, only for FP to chase it for another kiss. If he can even call what he’s doing kissing. It’s like his brain can’t even focus on getting his lips to move, is only capable of panting into Fred’s mouth.

He just needs Fred to get a hand on his dick. To just touch him, and he’ll be all set. 

He pulls his fingers free of Fred’s shirt to reach up for his wrist. Fred lets FP guide his hand down between them. He almost makes it to home base when the door opens, alerting them of a newcomer.

“Fred, can I talk to you for a second?” 

It’s Vic, FP vaguely recognizes as he and Fred scramble apart. He thought everyone had gone home, and Fred must have, too, otherwise FP guesses he wouldn’t have risked doing anything in the trailer without _locking the damn doors_.

“Hey, Vic.” Fred’s trying to go for casual despite the fact he’s breathing heavy and his shirt’s gone all loose and wrinkled from FP’s tugging. “What’s up?”

FP’s not paying attention to the conversation. The fucking vibrator is still going off full speed inside him, and it’s all FP can do not to start howling like a maniac. And Fred’s just ignoring it… like he’s forgotten or something. FP’s whiteknuckling the desk so hard he thinks he’s about to break a chunk off of it.

He starts coughing, because that’s all he can think to do to interrupt the conversation. Has to cough _louder_ until Fred finally turns his attention to him.

“Fred! I think you sh-should check-” FP stutters, a wave of pleasure ripping through him hard enough he has to fight not to moan out. “ _Your phone._ ”

It’s a second before realization dawns on Fred’s face, his eyes widening as he reaches for his phone. “Shit! Sorry! Yeah.” He looks back to Vic, faux-innocent smile on his face. “Important text, you know?”

Vic nods like he understands, but his face portrays nothing but confusion. He turns his attention to FP while Fred fumbles with his phone. “Are you okay, FP? You look a little pale.”

FP’s sweating bullets. He can feel it down his neck, his shirt sticking to him. “I’m fine.” He throws up the sign for _okay_. Fred finally sets the vibrator back on low, and FP wonders if that was deliberate or if Fred actually thinks he turned it off. Which at this point doesn’t really matter. FP’s whole body feels so sensitive to any sensation. But at least his head doesn’t feel so cloudy. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

He just needs to go lay down. The couch is only ten steps away. He can manage that.

He can’t, actually. He takes one step and almost falls to his knees. Fred and Vic both rush to his side to help, but FP shoos them away.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Vic asks as FP stumbles his way over to the couch.

“He’s just feeling a little sick. Bad lunch,” Fred explains. FP doesn’t know if Vic buys it, he’s already made it to the couch and shoved a cushion over his face to bite into.

“I should really go take care of him. How ‘bout you call me later and we’ll finish this talk then, huh?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure,” Vic says. “Hope you feel better, FP.”

FP keeps himself hidden under the cushion, but sends a thumbs up to Vic anyway. Whatever the hell will get him to leave so he and Fred can finish this already.

He hears Vic saying goodbye, feels the trailer shift the way it does whenever someone’s coming or going. Assuming he’s in the clear, he presses the heel of his hand to the front of jeans, sighing out as he finally gets some sort of pressure down there. Fred’s racing around making sure both doors are locked, which shouldn’t even be an issue now, hopefully. 

“Fred, I swear to God if you don’t get your ass over here-”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Fred’s laughing as he launches himself on top of FP, throwing the cushion aside so he can get a look at his boyfriend. “Where were we?”

FP’s legs fall open, giving Fred space to settle in between them. He can’t help but buck his hips up, chasing more of that friction he so desperately needs. “Think we were at the part you make me come so hard I can’t see straight.”

Fred laughs as he leans down to press his lips to FP’s. “Oh, yeah. Now I remember.” He rolls his hips forward, slow but pointed, and FP bites his lip on a groan. 

Fred reaches back to pull his phone out of his back pocket, still kissing FP all the while. 

It keeps FP distracted, too focused on the feeling of Fred’s tongue in his mouth to notice what he’s doing until he _feels_ it. The vibrator’s not going full speed like it was before, but it’s definitely going hard enough that FP thinks he’s gonna start crying if he doesn’t come soon. Just as the thought forms in his head, he feels a tear drip down the side of his face. 

“God, you look beautiful like this,” Fred whispers, looking down at FP all soft and reverent, following the tear track with the pad of his thumb.

FP can’t help it. The moment feels like too much, and he lets out a whimper. “‘M so fucking close.” He sounds so out of it even to his own ears. He reaches for Fred’s belt buckle, tugs him forward as he thrusts his hips up to meet Fred’s. 

Fred reaches a hand down between them, _finally_ gets his hand on FP’s dick, even if it is through a layer of denim. “Shhh. I’ve got you.” He presses his forehead to FP’s, repeats “I’ve got you,” as his hand starts to stroke.

It doesn’t take long for FP to find his release, his whole body shaking and shattering beneath Fred, bowing forward before collapsing back onto the couch. His heart’s beating so fast he doesn’t know if it’ll ever slow down. And Fred, being the closet sadist he is, spikes the vibrator up one more time, causing FP to _yelp_ and shove him away. 

“That’s not funny!” FP cries. His whole body’s shaking in the aftershocks.

Fred’s laughing anyway. “It’s a little funny.”

With the toy powered down for good, Fred stuffs his phone back in his pocket. He shuffles himself between FP and the couch, switching their positions so he’s the one laying back and pulls FP on top of him, lets FP rest all sweating and panting against his chest. 

“So,” Fred says, one arm wrapped around FP’s back, the other sweeping his hair off his forehead. “Was it as good and you hoped?” Places a loose-lipped kiss to FP’s forehead.

It takes FP a second to collect his thoughts, be able to string words together coherently. He tilts his head up, chin resting on Fred’s chest to look at him. “Even better.” He grins lazily. “Could do without the cum drying in my pants, though.” He wiggles down onto Fred’s leg, letting him feel the wet patch just to prove his point.

Fred’s face scrunches up in a grimace, but he’s laughing. Jostles FP a little, but doesn’t push him away. “I’ll take you home and get you all cleaned up.” 

There’s a suggestive note in Fred’s tone. FP can’t help but perk up a little at that. “Promise?”

Fred smiles and answers with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> so... if you made it to this point you might as well leave comments and kudos like.... youve already come this far...


End file.
